


This Funny Old Life

by Glory_Jean



Series: Hope [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Post Episode: s02e13 Doomsday, Time Babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-25
Updated: 2008-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glory_Jean/pseuds/Glory_Jean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finds himself watching her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Funny Old Life

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to At Hope's Door . Babyfic, AU post doomsday, post reunion
> 
> Beta [](http://bananasandroses.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://bananasandroses.livejournal.com/)**bananasandroses**  . Posted without a final read-through from my beta-reader, sorry. I wanted to post before the big S4 ender.
> 
> ______________________________________

  
_There is nothing settled, nothing staid in this universe”_ ~ Virginia Woolf

 

 

I.

He finds himself watching her. He'll turn from whatever was occupying his attention and is staid by her presence, her being. A miracle wrapped in flesh. An anomalous creation - a union of time and chance. Only she has the ability to make the Time Lord lose track of time. Not even her mother has that power over him. He can't fight it and he doesn't try.

Instead of calculating co-ordinates, he watches her dancing, spinning in layers of lace and tulle, her expression open and carefree. In the library, only halfway though the stack of books in front of him, he is captivated as she reads to a menagerie of toys, his research forgotten in his hands. He savours the moments, trailing behind as she dashes back and forth to gather each colour of bloom, helping weave them into her hair. He halts in the midst of a Very Important Repair as a rain of gauzy scarves drifts slowly to the grating from the railing above, until a thin high-pitched giggle and the sound of running feet announce her departure. He tends her carefully as she leaps fully-clothed into the swimming pool turned giant bubble bath. (He never could say no to her mother. Why did he think she would be any different? Still, he prepares a speech about science experiments and hands-on learning, should Rose happen to wander by).

If she notices his watchfulness, she never says.

She is one person, one tiny person, but she fills the empty halls with laughter, the stuffy, forgotten rooms with light and air and his hearts - _oh, his hearts._ And that cold, once-empty place in his mind hurts a little less.

Sometimes, it's hard to look at her without seeing the others who came before, the lost ones who sleep in his mind. But that cannot - _will not -_ stop him from taking her small, outstretched hand and letting her lead him where she will.

She is motion and energy, an unbreakable will - and well – much like him, really. That is so amazing – and terrifying. But he wouldn't trade it - for anything.

 

 

II.

_"A man is the sum of his memories, you know, a Time Lord even more so."_  
The Doctor, _The Five Doctors  
_  


 

There are so many things he knows about his youngest child (his mind freezes on the word _only_ ), little facts that he collects in his mind like seashells in a jar.

The way she looks when she sleeps ( _pink cheeks and dark, fluttering lashes_ ).

The way she turns everything into a challenge. ("I thought I asked you to get dressed." "You meant _right now?_ " )

The way she can't quite seem to stand still or wait, a bundle of restless movement, almost bouncing. ( _Like father, like daughter_ _Rose always says. He doesn't really look like that, does he?_ )

How her face comes to life when she's tackled a problem. ( _A smile that could light a sun_ ).

 

***

He remembers their faces, changing as they matured. ( _He never paused to appreciate them properly_ )

He can almost envision where they used to play. _(Little faces peering through the silver leaves_ )

He thinks he might have glanced at an academy evaluation or two. ( _They were so very clever_ )

He weighs what he knows about them against what he _wishes_ he knew. He sees now all the memories he could have had. He was so young and foolish.

Memory for a Time Lord is so much more than a history. More than a collection of stories and events. When bodies and personalities - likes and dislikes - are transient things, what remains? What makes you who you are?

Memory.

His memories, the good and the bad, are all he can hold on to in the end. Therefore, he thinks it slightly ludicrous to mourn memories never made.

And yet, he does.

 

III.

 

He wonders if he has lost his sanity to be doing this again. With intent. Much as he cherishes this act of parenting (not merely fathering), he is well aware he cheated a bit the last time, jumping in at the halfway point. Starting from scratch sounds so much harder. He finds himself giving up the lie that they did this so their daughter would not be alone.

Not for the first time, he has a fleeting wish for the ability to see his own future. The irony is he cannot - the mere act of glimpsing his future changes it. It's the ultimate case of how a thing being studied changes with the studying of it. The Time Lords' greatest secret is how linear, in fact, they are. He can't see ahead and he can never go back. He trudges though this linear non-linear existence, watching the threads of time weave around him and seeing so clearly how easy it is to tear them apart. It's a terrible thing to be filled with power you are unable to use. It's what kept his people holed up on their home world.

Rose is the only human he has tried to explain this to. It gives him a headache each time. But she's clever, and she's used to him, and she understands enough to be able to comfort the child when the dizzy spells hit. Galactic vertigo they've nick-named them. The price of coming into your power with an empty place in your mind. His presence helps, but he can't stand in for an entire civilisation.

But they manage, they always have.

 

IV.

_There are no happy endings because nothing ever ends._  
The Last Unicorn

 

It is a strange existence this life, this _family_. They have no house, no mortgage or carpets but even he can't deny the truth of it. He is tamed, domesticated by his own hand.

Somewhere along the line his plus one and he had become two squared and were four. And an equation that at first sounded so simple is now so terribly complex. If this is a happy ending out of one of the children's fairy tales, it is not as it promised to be. Mistakes are no longer something he can afford.

Some days are so hard - breaking you into shards and leaving you lying in the dust. Some are precious and lovely, fragile as a butterfly newly emerged from its chrysalis. Others teach you to hope; build you anew.

There are no tidy endings, just this... life. This funny ol' life.

But against all odds, they are surviving together, individually – thriving, even. Three mad Time Lords and a human, madder still, who puts up with it all. The children learn. Always growing and changing. Changing their parents along the way.

They are all a work in progress.

As it _should_ be.


End file.
